The Virgins' Snow
by Sora-M-Jigen
Summary: Sherlock x John. John and Sherlock want to break the boundaries, but can't bring themselves to say it.
1. Playing the Game

Sherlock embodied the snow in every principle which made John smile softly.

Sherlock was cold, knowing that this was the way of the world. He was also rather complex, his Mind Palace was the epitome of how intricate this man could be. Yet the man was rather gentle to John, but could instantly become harsh, like a blizzard. He was like no man John had ever encountered, even in all his times in the war and it thrilled him to know such a man.

Watching the snow dance down on Baker Street, John sipped his tea. Feeling the sudden rush of warmth settle his bones, he stared into the white wonder as it reminded him of how pale Sherlock was. It was his natural hue and sometimes John swore he turned into a ghost when he was sick. Yet there was something somewhat enchanting about Sherlock's ivory skin. John had never seen someone as pale as him before, it was as though he was constructed of snowflakes bounded by many winter winds gone by.

Taking another sip of his tea, John was nothing more than dusty sand. He was like anyone else, he was average. While he didn't mind or care, he found it amazing that in a sea of people, Sherlock could easily be pinpointed. Though he supposed that's what made him adore Sherlock so much. The fact that even in a crowd of regular Joes and Janes, he could find Sherlock standing out, waiting for him. His skin went against his character of wanting to avoid people other than John and those he needed to interact with.

Feet on the stairs reverberated, their sound walking into John's ears. Looking over his shoulder, he watched his snow skinned Sherlock enter the flat. It had been a few months since they started their relationship and while they felt as though they've known each for forever, they never went far enough to reach the bedroom. Their first night of dining together confirmed that Sherlock was unattached and had never been involved in any sort of relationship. No hook ups, no flings, no serious relationships, no intimacy; nothing at all. This made John believe that like him, Sherlock was a virgin. Ms. Adler had toyed with him, nicknaming him The Virgin, and Sherlock did not deny such an accusation. Rather, he allowed it to roll down his back as though it didn't bother him.

At best John and Sherlock would succumb to the irresistible temptation of savagely wrestling their tongues and feeling each other up. Yet it would always end before they reached third base and while their sessions pleased John, at times, he wished for more. However he knew that he was terribly shy at initiating sex and often found himself on his back or pinned to the wall while Sherlock cruelly teased him. Sometimes his passion or suppressed emotions would dominate him and he would force Sherlock onto the couch while he tore his pants off and roughly sucked his cock.

It also didn't help the fact that Sherlock was an enticingly entrancing teaser when it came to their sessions. The man used his perception to detect what John's sensitive patches, what made him groan the loudest, what made him moan the softest, what made his hips buck without warning. John was always putty in Sherlock's hands and he loved it with every caress and touch. Knowing how Sherlock melted him in their passions, he wondered how he would be in the bedroom.

John shivered in delight at that image.

Sherlock knew that shiver and smirked, ignoring the snow in his hair and waiting for John to make the move. He wasn't a forceful type of lover and only did whatever his partner was comfortable with. Yet there were nights he wished he could rip John's trousers off, push him onto the bed, and have at it until the sun rose. It was an intense desire he knew how to suppress and control. It was a need that he had managed all this time and for once, he never gave into that need. He knew it was a part of Maslow's Hierarchy, the fact that all humans needed esteem, love, safety, self-actualization, and physiological needs to survive. Sherlock had achieved all of these things, without obtaining the carnal need. But for once, he wondered what it would be like to completely break boundaries, and achieve that primitive want.

"Hold on, you've got some snow in your hair."

Standing on his toes, John ran his fingers through Sherlock's field of ebony curls tipped with snow. The trap was set and the prey was baited, carefully eating that bait, unsuspecting of the trap to release. Pristine blue eyes lowered, Sherlock's orbs flared with something wild.

Gripping his hips, Sherlock pulled John into a passionate kiss that melted him more than his tea did. The trap was unleashed and the prey gave in, sinking fingers into Sherlock's hair, his tips stroked Sherlock's sensitive scalp which made him moan. Kicking the door closed with his heel, Sherlock pulled his partner tightly to him, not once wanting to release him. Relieving Sherlock of his dark sweater, John ran his fingers down the taller man's spine. Groaning into the kiss, Sherlock pressed his lips hard and roughly against his partner's. Using his finger tips he slowly inched down Sherlock's spine once more, making the man buck his hips against John's frame.

Sherlock nibbled John's lower lip before biting rather hard and pulling oh so slowly so that John's moan echoed against his skin. Warmth danced along their bodies, inviting the heat between them to burn and burst. John's lips were like fire, burning Sherlock's lips with passionate warmth that made his snow flesh redden. Sherlock hastily grabbed the edge of John's sweater, thumbing the fabric. It was thick and warm, perfect for the season; also perfect for being ripped off.

Sherlock's fingers lingered at the edge of John's sweater, stroking the skin beneath. His fingertips were cold from the winter chill that he emerged from and made the hair rise on his partner's body. The detective's fingers worked like his mind, in depth with perception. Dragging his fingers up John's ribs, John swore Sherlock could feel his heart pounding and screaming for more. Every beat seemed to tremble on his skin and made Sherlock hungrier for his beloved as John moaned softly at the touch. As his fingers neared John's nipples, the sweater stretched, eager to be shed. John's throat thrummed with a low moan, music to Sherlock's ears. Smirking softly, Sherlock leaned into John's kiss to capture that delicious sound. The moan trembled among Sherlock's lips, urging him to run clockwise circles around John's tender nipples.

'Goddamnit Sherlock,' John thought to himself, his brain reeling in ecstasy and that deep moan steadily growing into a needful mewl.

What a sound, Sherlock relished in the notes and tore the sweater from John's body only to be met with a sensual growl rolling from his now shirtless, short partner. John hastily pulled Sherlock's body to him, his hands roamed over Sherlock's back muscles, stroking them with electricity in his fingernails and making the detective groan. His body was ablaze with warmth that not even the snow could chill. John could feel the fire burning and blazing within him as Sherlock's chilly fingers slid onto his nipples and caress them softly.

John roared loudly with intangible want, breaking the kiss between the two and muffling the starving sound by leaving love bites on Sherlock's neck. Thank God the man had a scarf to cover them up, but he didn't care. They would both be teased by others about marks they gave each other every now and then. But by now everyone had accepted the fact that John was Sherlocked. Even if they didn't, the duo didn't care because they weren't seeking the approval of everyone (though was thrilled beyond words to see they were finally dating). Rather, they were seeking the approval and acceptance of each other while coursing through the rivers of a relationship.

Once more, John's fingers slowly walked down Sherlock's back making the detective groan. His eyes widened as he felt John's hands slip into his pants and firmly grope his tight ass. This tempted Sherlock to go harder in his endeavors, but that would break his game. Instead, he bit down on John's collarbone, sucking at the tender flesh and leaving rather large red marks. He could feel John's hands working on his arse, sending shivers of pleasure down Sherlock's spine and making him suck harder. John groaned with every mark left and in return, made more bruises along Sherlock's ivory skin with his hungry mouth.

With their bodies were close together John felt himself extremely aroused. His jeans didn't hide from his erection and Sherlock's, if anything, enhanced his hard on. John knew what would follow after this, but this time, he didn't want just oral. He wanted – Sherlock teasingly ran a finger down his partner's chest and played along the belt which held up the very fabric that separated him from satisfaction. John knew what he wanted and yet he could feel himself melting more from Sherlock's touch. His head swam in ecstasy with the notion of sweet surrender, giving his body to Sherlock, and allowing him to do as he pleased, even if there was no sex. His mind grew foggy with the desire to wrap his lips around Sherlock's cock and maybe, maybe next time he would work up the courage to ask if they could advance to the next level.

Gripping Sherlock's hand, John's brain rebelled. The lustful want was all he had on his mind now and his brain was damned if it was going to slip from him again. Eyes widening, he felt his hand pulsing against Sherlock's pale wrist. The electric warmth pounding in his brain and writhing in his nerves hungered for intercourse and refused to let him escape such a wondrous want.

"John?"

Sherlock had known John long enough to know that when he wasn't in the mood for anything, he would show it prior to kissing and touching. But this was a new side of John Sherlock had not witnessed before as he attempted to assemble the clues in his head. John looked well; he knew there was nothing wrong about him. He was not feverish or angered or bitter about anything. No one had affected his life negatively in the past few days, months, or weeks. Yes there were a few cases, but John had brushed them off as accomplishments, having helped his boyfriend solve them and sticking by his side. They did not bother him in the least. Furrowing his brow, Sherlock watched his partner wrestle with his mind, as though wanting to tell him something, but what the detective did not know.

Ah, but wait then. Something arose and started to arrange the words and notions in his Mind Palace.

Swallowing hard, John locked eyes with Sherlock's. It was as though a ghost was guiding John through the notions of how to properly ask for intercourse and advancement. He could feel some transparent head forcing him to stare into his boyfriend's intense stare. Those bright, blazing blues made his knees quiver with an insatiable hunger he never had before. It was strange and primal and only made his eyes roughen with desire. Brushing the ghost away, he cleared his throat which caused Sherlock to watch him with rapt attention.

"Sh-Sherlock."

"Hm?"

He couldn't bring himself to keep staring at those beautiful blues. Swiftly looking down, he came in contact with Sherlock's erect member which reassured him of what he needed. His voice fell from serious to shy as he mentally chastised himself for not being able to ask such a simple question. He knew that the act of sex would amplify their relationship and strengthen its bond. John was prepared for that and it wouldn't surprise him if Sherlock was as well. 'If' was a giant word especially in this regard. But so far their relationship had been good. They fought every now and then as any other couple did and respected each other's space and time. They always had each others' backs and knew when to comfort them and when to leave them be. So why he wouldn't to advance worried John and made him reconsider his brain's sudden rebellious nature.

"Do you….er…perhaps…want to-"

The words tumbled out of John's mouth like a bull stampeding through a field of fences. Their syllables registered in the Mind Palace and came together with a resounding click in Sherlock's head.

"Oh."

Given the context, their time together, and nature of what they were doing, the Mind Palace completed its riddle. It gave way to the answer of something that did not surprise Sherlock in the least. Rather, he had expected it would emerge sooner or later. They had been together for a good while and sooner or later, the idea of sex would pop up. Smiling with relief, John was glad he didn't have to finish that question, knowing Sherlock's reasoning would end it.

To ravage his partner through and through, perhaps now it was time to break the walls, shatter the boundaries, and embrace the primal instinct that every human had been born with, including Sherlock Holmes. Though it would not be so easy to achieve intercourse and John could tell that by the sly, sexy smirk on Sherlock's face. He knew how Sherlock played the game and he knew how to dominate John.

"Maybe," even Sherlock's voice toyed with John, his heart pounding with need.

"Maybe?"

"Maybe."


	2. Melting the Snow

John had to step up his game as he had done in the past and would not hesitate to do so. The very idea of wanting to feel himself inside Sherlock, thrusting until his knees collapsed from the very passion he endlessly exerted thrilled John. He knew that he would have to beat Sherlock at his own game and he had a slight idea as to how he would do that. Though he already knew what made Sherlock tick, the spots he struck were the ones he had learned in pornographic films and stories his friends told him during the war. They were all too familiar patches everyone knew and yet there had to be some other spot on Sherlock to make him lose it.

Allowing his very own passion and want to override him, he threw Sherlock against the wall, catching the detective off guard. Sherlock's breath hitched as John growled, the sound rolling in his throat and weaving his way into the detective's mind. He was going to make the snow crafted man die from pleasure and he would relish in his deviant demise.

Tearing Sherlock's pants off, the taller man's pale hands immediately slid into John's hair, pulling hard. A little pain with pleasure never hurt anyone. Pinning him to the wall with his hands, John nipped Sherlock's flesh before reaching his abdomen. Instead of diving downward and wrapping his lips around Sherlock's dick, he smirked and bit into the tender skin. Sherlock's eyes widened, this was new and it felt so damn good as John sucked hard. He could feel his partner's tongue gliding and sealing the bruise to his skin, marking him so that no one else would ever have him. Sherlock still tugged on John's hair as he groaned in response and sucked even harder.

Running his fingertips up Sherlock's inner thigh made the detective gasp, having never felt something like that before. It was a sensual chill that vibrated within his thigh and worked its way up his spine, invading his cranium, and filling it with curiosity as to what else John had in store. His eyes watched his partner, trying to decipher his motives, but his Mind Palace was blocked by a fog of sexual need. Trying to trek through the fog, he was caught off guard by John slowly massaging his balls. Drowning deeper into the fog and his moans, Sherlock slowly abandoned the notion to figure out John's next move. His body slumped against the wall as he gripped the couch with his one hand. He swore he felt his knees grow weak and possibly shake beneath John's hand as he did his best to stand.

Stroking the sensitive skin that joined the shaft to the balls, Sherlock groaned loudly. His knees buckled just like his hips, John smiled to himself, having found the spot to make Sherlock lose it. He never heard such a loud, primal groan emerge from Sherlock's fair lips. John suddenly wondered how his partner would be in the act of sex as the curiosity and ideas teased him relentlessly. Yet John knew not rush to reach that glorious moment, but rather, take his time and pounce at the perfect time. John's other hand crept from the wall and slowly ran up Sherlock's ass. Groping his tight arse, his lips trailed downward to Sherlock's erect member, placing tender kisses along the shaft. Each kiss was a morsel of temptation that made Sherlock growl hungrily.

Cupping the small of Sherlock's back, John swiftly pulled him close as he made circles with his tongue on the tip. He had done this technique before, but somehow it seemed different to Sherlock. It was a tantalizing calm before the storm that sent electricity through his frame. It was fiery and much more alive than it had been in the past, and it made the detective groan softly. Bit by bit, he took Sherlock's dick into his mouth, moaning against the shaft as Sherlock massaged his scalp. John sucked rough and hard, as though he never tasted Sherlock's dick before. Sherlock gripped John's hair as he felt the man deep throat him, filling his entire mouth with his cock, and running his tongue along the shaft.

Groaning in undeniable pleasure, Sherlock melted with only his fingers locked in John's hair to remind him he was alive. The world seemed to fade around him as he only focused on John's deep throating. John never did deep throat, he didn't even know the man could deep throat, but God it felt amazing. The culmination of stroking that sensitive patch and deep throating made Sherlock forget that the world even existed. Tossing his head back, he was met with the cool wall of the flat, reminding him that he was still trapped in reality, and that this wasn't a wet dream. It was as real as John's hair and lips as they worked on Sherlock with passion and care.

Feeling Sherlock's pre-cum at the back of his throat, John swallowed it, knowing that the detective was ready. Quickly rising from his knees, John passionately kissed Sherlock who in return decided to take control of the situation and thrust John to the wall. Caught off by this, he wondered how Sherlock was going to manipulate his plan. Locking lusty eyes with the detective, they both growled like wolves about to tear into each other. Placing one hand behind John's head, Sherlock kissed him deeply as he exposed John's member. Nimble fingers slithering down to his partner's dick, he gripped it hard and teasingly pulled. Groaning against Sherlock's lips, John sunk into the wall as Sherlock jerked him off.

The rhythm of their moans and Sherlock's thrusting hand, made John's heart pound so quickly it hummed. Electricity in his body merged with Sherlock's as his body drank the pleasure like a fine wine, making his head spin. With every thrust, Sherlock swore John became harder and firmer which made him pursue his actions with more passion. Nipping John's throat and biting his collarbone, the man left more bruises with his mouth, hungry for his partner. Massaging his shaft, John groaned loudly, Sherlock's slender fingers working their magic.

He could feel his head swimming in a sea of ecstasy, drowning beneath the tides of desire, and pulling him under into a tantalizing trench he did not want to escape. His thumb on the tip softly swirled, stroking the tip gently and making John moan in between breaths. Sherlock's fingertips meticulously worked on the shaft and crept down to John's balls. Toying with his balls, John groaned, his hands melting into the wall, allowing Sherlock to dominate him. It wouldn't be for long or so he had hoped, the plan still needed to follow through. Massaging his balls John groaned, feeling himself release a bit of pre-cum. Through his half closed eyes he once again locked with Sherlock's pristine blues and knew the time to act was now. He couldn't wait anymore, he needed him, and by the glossy lust of Sherlock's orbs, John could tell he needed him too.

No sooner Sherlock released John, Sherlock found himself on the couch, gripping the cushion. Sliding behind him, John's eyes darted about the room for any sort of lubricant. His cold tea would not make a good lube. It would be a terrible idea to use it and he continued his visual search. He located a bottle of hand lotion on the desk and immediately snatched it up. Placing a few drops of it on his finger, he looked at Sherlock from behind.

The man was gorgeous, downright gorgeous, and to be bowed before John with his ass up was even more gorgeous. Yet a shred of doubt slipped into John's mind, that maybe he shouldn't pursue this and maybe Sherlock didn't want it and was just going along with John's needs. After all the man did say 'maybe', though John knew that it was a tease, but at the same time, an indefinite answer. John wasn't forceful and knew Sherlock was the same. Both understood each other, complying with only what the other felt comfortable with, but by now Sherlock should have protested or at least stopped him.

"Sherlock, do you want this?"

"John, what do you think? My ass is bared and I'm naked," the man always held the tones of stoicism and sarcasm, jumbled together to create his velvety voice.

This was no exception, although his partner did have a point and he mentally chastised himself for believing in doubt. Sliding his fingers in as far as they could go, he pushed and pulled at Sherlock's walls as the man roared loudly in desire. It was inhumane and raw, like his soul yearning for a pleasure he had always forbid himself from experiencing. Those uncontrolled vocals broke his typical stoic attitude and shocked John, rattling his soul like dimes in a tin can. He wanted to hear that sound again and so, thrusting his fingers against his walls, Sherlock continued that unbridled roar. John had never seen Sherlock like this before. It was as though a wild hound had invaded his mind and broke his palace, demolishing any limitations he had set on himself, and thriving with an unshakable need.

John had never considered himself to be dominant when it came to intercourse. He would always imagine himself as submissive and yet, something inside him fought against that. Something feral and unknown that possibly grew from his old war ways of never giving up the fight and having to be in control and needing that particular dominance. It was a fire that needed feeding every now and then, why he sometimes exploded with passion and took control in his sexual life with Sherlock.

Fuck, Sherlock had a great ass.

He had seen the arses of men before in the infirmary and even in his office, but none of them could compare to Sherlock's. It was tight and perfect; the man could practically model a speedo with it and look amazing. That was an enticing idea that made John smirk. The idea of Sherlock in a speedo, knowing that image would never spill onto reality's pages, made it even more tempting. His short nails ran down each bone that made up Sherlock's spine, hairs popping up on his back and making the detective growl.

"John!"

John had regained control of the situation and loved every moment of it. Sherlock's sex starved tones tore through the room as John smirked to himself. Groping the detective's ass, he heard Sherlock hungrily moan, in need for more than just touches and kisses. John knew what he needed and teasingly slipped his fingers in, stretching the man once more and making him groan loudly in pleasure. Gripping the armrest, John watched him writhe in need, ignoring the fact that Sherlock had called his name.

"JOHN!"

"Hmmmm?"

"I need some. Give me some."

"Maybe."

Sherlock knew the game and gritted his teeth, squirming in need beneath John's cool hands. He was playing the game too well and throwing in the painful anticipation before the pleasurable plunge. Uncertain of what else John wanted from him, Sherlock swallowed hard. Pride was not something so easy for him to swallow and it went down like a boulder into his stomach, hitting his abdomen with a pang of defeat. Sweet, sweet defeat to the man behind him toying with his ass. Though he supposed it would be worth it, and that maybe, swallowing his pride wouldn't have such a bitter aftertaste in the very near future.

"John, please…"

What was that? Furrowing his brow, John made sure he wasn't hearing things. Mild shock settled in, humming against the arousal in his blood. Sherlock never begged. It was uncharacteristic of him to beg. Irene Adler could not make him beg, not even porn could make him beg. For a moment, John broke from his game as he watched the back of Sherlock's head. 'Please' coming from Sherlock's mouth was like Hell freezing over: it never happened.

"Please…"

He made Sherlock beg twice. Grinning wildly, he had accomplished what Adler could not and considered himself, in that moment, to be the sole weakness of Sherlock. Not his violin, not crimes, not a field day of evidence, but him. He was a far greater lover than Adler could ever amount to. She could never make the great detective beg and yet he could. He could make Sherlock Holmes beg and it made his head reel with victory.

"Well, since you asked so nicely…"

Sliding in rather roughly, Sherlock unleashed a primitive roar of need. Wanting to tease him, that notion was abandoned at the feel of Sherlock around John's dick. It was something that no blowjob or handjob could ever simulate and now, he had to have more. Thrusting hard and deep into Sherlock, he watched the man who always dominated him squirm, biting into a pillow and screaming with delight. The sight made John mentally orgasm as he pounded his cock roughly into Sherlock's prostate, making the man mewl loudly.

Every thrust was met with the hot sound of smacking skin, the mere feeling of it inviting John to plunge even deeper. With every plunge, Sherlock seemed to groan louder, screaming in delight, and burying his face into the cushion. At times John could hear his name murmured against the pillow which made him grin, knowing he was satisfying his partner greatly. His grin broke as moans tore through his lips and merged with Sherlock's as he thrust harder and harder. He could see the rise and fall of Sherlock's spine and rib cage as he pounded unmercifully into him, filling him to the hilt with his dick. Sherlock felt like the perfect fit for John which made his head reel in delight. The perfect boyfriend, the perfect fit, it was Christmas for John Watson. To have the privilege of pounding his hard dick into Sherlock Holmes' arse was Christmas for him. To love him though, for all his flaws and perfections and to be by his side for God knew how long, that was even better. That was beyond Christmas; that was a gift of a lifetime.

He wanted to flip him over and lock eyes with him as he rode him, but the couch would be too cramped for that. Tight spaces were always good for sex, but he wanted Sherlock to be comfortable and – oh fuck it. Quickly pulling out, John gripped Sherlock by his hips and flipped him. The detective was thrown off guard, blushing madly, his snow white skin turning to that of a field of pink roses. Sweat glistened on his forehead and a bit of his chest as Sherlock panted hard. John couldn't stop staring at him and suddenly recalled every moment that he thought Sherlock was beautiful. Yet none of those moments could compare to this. The snow king was melting, his ivory flesh giving way to a hue that made John smile.

Leaning over, John placed a gentle kiss against his forehead. Opening his eyes, Sherlock met John's stare. Lust and love culminated in his chocolate orbs as though it was a recipe for Valentine's Day and he couldn't understand why. He couldn't comprehend that gentle yet passionate look as he swallowed hard, uncertain of what to say or do. In a way it bothered him, his mind scrambled and scattered from their sex and yet, he didn't want to repair it. Not now, anyway. He tried to move a bit to grace John's lips with a kiss, but his sore behind prevented him as he winced.

"H-hey, you okay?"

John panted, his eyes never leaving Sherlock.

"Y-yeah."

"Want…want to keep going?"

"Yeah."

John eased himself into Sherlock and thrust once more, this time a bit more gently. He watched Sherlock in case he showed any signs of pain or protest. Sherlock grit his teeth at the feel of his partner and tensed. John stopped and began to remove himself, worried for him. Swiftly reaching up, Sherlock gripped John's wrist and relaxed. Meeting his eyes once more, Sherlock's blues were vortexes of pleasure and reckless need that pierced John's heart.

"D-don't stop."

Nodding, John slowly slid himself inside once more and thrust gently. Feeling Sherlock's hard dick against his abdomen enticed him to go faster in which he did not hesitate to do so. Watching Sherlock arch his back in need, John gripped the blushing man's hips and rode him hard. Pressing his bucking hips into the couch, Sherlock gripped the armrest at his head and howled in need. Wanting to satisfy his partner even more, John thrust hard, his tip meeting Sherlock's pleasure points. Writhing beneath John, Sherlock roared with want as John did the same. Breaking from his hip, John reached down and grasped Sherlock's dick in his hand.

Sherlock's head swam with the brewing pleasure of John's hand jerking him off and riding him at the same time. The fog in his head drowned him; shrouding him in a feeling he couldn't describe other than completeness. It was something he hadn't felt or experienced before and in a way, it troubled but calmed him. To know that the man riding him was someone he loved dearly now completed him in a way he couldn't comprehend. It was strange and wonderful, like all the pieces of evidence falling into place. Somehow this feeling of completion filled a gap in his Mind Palace that he hadn't noticed before and now, was suddenly brought to his attention. Locking eyes with John, he wondered how such an ordinary man could make him feel like this. Perhaps, it was something never meant to be answer or discussed; he didn't know.

"Oh, Christ!"

Yelling loud, John came into Sherlock, filling him to the brim. Moaning softly, he felt Sherlock ejaculate into his hand as he unleashed one last howl of desire. Falling back against the couch, the two panted hard. Staring at each other through half closed eyes, John watched as a sliver of a smile flashed on Sherlock's face before he turned his attention to the ceiling. Smirking, John did the same. He had satisfied his partner and escalated their relationship to a new level and he couldn't be happier.

"So," Sherlock spoke in between pants.

"Was it as good for you as it was for me?"

Laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of that overused line, John and Sherlock melted into the couch. John knew why people had said that line and grinned. It was good for him, if not better because he managed to do it with someone he loved with every fiber of his being. Sherlock finally understood that line because he felt the same way as John. Plus those words were spoken after nearly every sex scene in a comedy romance movie. It was cliché and yet, Sherlock felt as though it suited the moment as they reveled in each other's presence.

It didn't take long for them to clean up as John threw on Sherlock's robe and somewhere in Sherlock's mind he found that sexy. Perhaps he would let John wear his robe more, if not encourage him to do so. Smirking softly, Sherlock slipped into his pants and held John on the couch. Kissing his cheek, their eyes fell upon the window revealing the white world. Snow was still falling down on Baker Street as John smiled, knowing he melted the snow king and any boundaries that were left between them.


End file.
